Dig Two Graves
by Paltomi
Summary: [Apollo Justice spoilers!] When he awoke, he was already chained to a bedpost in Mr. Wright's room with his hands bound together and his mouth taped shut. He doesn't know why he's being detained and tormented by his former hero, but he has a feeling it has something to do with Kristoph Gavin. And Phoenix Wright won't let revenge slip through his fingers twice.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Another impromptu fill for the PW kink meme. The prompt asked for dark!Phoenix taking his anger and hatred of Kristoph out on Apollo and was pretty open-ended as to how he would do it, so here's... this. Chapters will probably be pretty short to reinforce the tension and horror themes in the piece. The rating is T for now but very well may end up as M, at which point I will change it, so please read responsibly!

**Rated T** for violence and nonexplicit sexual themes.

**Spoilers for:** Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

* * *

There's a chain around his ankle that's too tight, and it's padlocked to the support post of Mr. Wright's bed. He's on the floor, on his knees, trying to pull his leg free from its shackle, tears in his eyes. If he had the means to, he thinks he would cut it off, no matter the pain.

It's dark in the bedroom, but he's long since adjusted. Mr. Wright's removed anything that might conceivably become a weapon in desperate hands; he knows because he's looked. There isn't so much as a hairpin of Trucy's to pick the lock, or a table lamp to use in defense. The window's blinds are down and the curtains, drawn, and they're too far outside his range of movement to reach anyway. That doesn't keep him from trying, though, and he stretches outward again, straining to slip his foot free from the shackle that's so tight it's already left marks.

His mouth is stuffed with cloth and taped shut. He's tried pulling it off, but it's wrapped around his head, trapping his hair, and won't be undone. His hands are taped, too, several times around the fingers to bind them to each other and then around the wrists, forcing them together. His hair has lost its spikes and now lies flat against his head, and this somehow makes him feel exposed. He's been stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, too, although he doesn't know why. Mr. Wright hasn't touched him there, not yet, at least, so he's sure this isn't about sex. There _is_ a bright purple bruise on his cheek, though, and it's enough to let him know this isn't some harmless prank gone on too long.

He can't remember the last time he's eaten, or slept, and eventually, he collapses onto his side in exhaustion. He has no way of knowing the time, has no idea how long he's been here, and it frightens him. He curls into a ball on the carpeted floor, taking comfort in his own warmth. He doesn't want to sleep for fear that Mr. Wright will return while he's out. But both his body and mind have been weakened by his experience, and soon enough, he's drifting off.

It isn't the slamming of the door that wakes him; he's too tired to even acknowledge that. Rather, it's the sharp kick to the ribs that jolts him into awareness, and with a cry muffled by the cloth and tape, he springs up and scrambles back against the bed, trying not to tremble like a whipped dog. Mr. Wright is standing over him, head tipped down, mouth curved into his usual genial smile, although in the darkness of the room, there's something warped about it.

"Wake up, Apollo," he says in a low, light voice. "It's not time to sleep just yet."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Here's part 2! As I said, the chapters will probably be rather short, but it really depends on the scene and how much I end up writing. :'3

Thank you kindly for the review, LemonSmoothie! :)

**Rated T** for violence and nonexplicit sexual themes.

**Spoilers for:** Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

* * *

"It's only three-thirty," Mr. Wright continues, and he moves to the window and peeks behind the blinds before letting them clatter back into place. "If you nap too much, you won't sleep tonight." He chuckles, like they're having a conversation, relaxed and casual.

_Mr. Wright, why are you doing this to me?_ Apollo wants to say, but all he can manage is a sort of whimpering groan. Mr. Wright hears him and comes to crouch before him. Then he takes his chin into his hand, tilts it to the side.

"Apollo, what's wrong? You look upset."

He tries to pull his face away, but Mr. Wright holds him fast, dipping into his skin with his overgrown fingernails as he leans closer.

"Are you afraid of something?"

_You_, Apollo thinks, and the sudden closeness induces in him a flare of panic. He raises his hands and pushes against Mr. Wright's chest with his palms. The effect is small; Mr. Wright rocks back onto his heels, steadies himself easily, and then smiles.

"You're always so feisty, Apollo. That's one of the reasons I hired you for the agency." He stands up and walks to his desk, and he's humming calmly, an energetic tune that sounds like a corruption of the _Steel Samurai_ theme. He's looking for something, but he's unhurried, taking his time to rummage through the drawer, still humming.

By the time he returns, Apollo has taken refuge beneath the bed. He's been trying to grab hold of the mesh above him, to anchor himself to his hiding spot, but with his fingers bound, his hands are close to useless, and he can't get a solid grip on the wire. Then he feels a tug at his left ankle, and his elbows give out beneath him as he's dragged, backwards, out from under the bed by his shackle. The carpet burns his legs and forearms, and he ducks his head to keep it from colliding with the bed frame as he's unearthed from his brief sanctuary. Fingers dig into his scalp, and suddenly, he's yanked by the hair until he's up on his knees. His eyes are already stinging with tears of pain when Mr. Wright whips the back of his hand across his cheek and mouth.

"Don't hide from me like that cowardly, conniving scum did!" he growls, and he pulls back his arm to swing again. Apollo throws up his hands, and they take the brunt of the blow. It hurts, but not as much as his face, and the cloth in his mouth tastes faintly of blood.

Mr. Wright seems to remember his purpose in coming over now, and his arm slips behind him to retrieve the roll of duct tape he'd dropped. Apollo doesn't want to be hit again, so he doesn't struggle as Mr. Wright pushes the wrapped fingers on each hand against each other and starts to bind them together so that now he looks like he's praying. It's not far off the mark. That finished, he runs his hand over the tape on his captive's mouth, smoothing down the frayed edges from where Apollo tried, in a frantic phase, to tear it off. He adds another strip and smoothes it down, and no sooner does he do so than the sound of a door slamming shut reaches their ears, and a discordantly cheerful voice calls out:

"Daddy, I'm home!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Here's part 3! Thanks for all the support both here and on the meme! :)

**Rated T** for violence and nonexplicit sexual themes.

**Spoilers for:** Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

* * *

He doesn't need Mr. Wright's threat to understand that he's to keep quiet. The door opens and closes softly; he snatches a wistful glimpse of the sunlit living room between Mr. Wright's ankles before it's gone and he's left in the dark again. He wants to hear Trucy's voice, if only to ease the endless ringing of silence in his ears, so he scoots forward on his knees until his shackle is pulled taut, and listens.

"How was school, Truce?" Mr. Wright's voice is gentle, so dissonant from how it was just a moment ago.

"It was good, Daddy! But that math test was a killer, just like I said it would be."

He hears her scuffing her feet on the doormat, followed by the thump of her bag dropping to the floor. It's purple and has her name monogrammed into it in deep pink thread. He's seen it so many times while helping her with her homework that he doesn't need to see it now to recall it.

"I'm sure everything will be just fine," Mr. Wright says, and Apollo knows it's not directed at him, _can't_ be directed at him, and yet all the same, he wants to believe those words, words said in that kind voice he misses so much.

He flexes the toes on his shackled foot, straightens them, tests for what must be the thousandth time if he can slip free, and, on determining he can't, pulls anyway with all the strength he has left in him, desperate to make some progress, to take just one step toward ending this nightmare. The chain, of course, doesn't give, and he breathes heavily through his nose from the exertion. Panic boils up within him again, and he sobs into his gag and lunges forward, landing hard on his elbows. The pain distracts him from his fear for the moment. He goes quiet, and he hears Trucy speak from the next room over.

"Daddy, do you know where Polly's been lately?"

He lifts his head, ears pricked and heart thudding.

"I'm only wondering because I haven't seen him around the office these past few days." There's a dark note in her voice that she smoothes over with, "And I've been meaning to try a new magic trick on him!"

He wants to laugh, wants to be her reluctant guinea pig again and let her pull his hair and call him Polly and show him her magic panties. His eyes flood with tears instead, blurring and gradating the reality he sees before him, but the walls of his prison do not yield.

"Trucy." Mr. Wright sounds somber now, like he's announcing the news of someone's – Apollo's – death. "Apollo won't be working here anymore."

He can almost hear the breath catch in her throat as her words tumble out.

"But why not?! What happened to Apollo?!"

_I'm right here, Trucy!_ he wants to call out, and in spite of Mr. Wright's warning, he lifts his unchained leg high into the air. Then he falters.

"This whole ordeal with Kristoph has taken its toll on him. He's decided to quit lawyering in order to take some time to himself to recover."

"But he never even said goodbye!"

The sound of his foot slamming to the ground isn't nearly as loud as he expected, but he knows it's been heard. There's silence in the other room, and for several moments, all he can hear is his own ragged breathing through his nose and the quick pulses of his heartbeat in his ears.

"What was that?" Trucy says at last, and Mr. Wright scarcely misses a beat with his laugh.

"Must've left my laptop too close to the edge of the bed again. Hope I didn't break it this time. By the way, Truce –" There's the sound of keys scraping wood, then the crumple of paper, like he's rummaging through a drawyer. "I didn't have the chance to go to the supermarket today. Would you mind going now and picking up the few things on this list?"

Apollo can only wait in petrified silence for his verdict to be decided.

"Oh! Well... Sure thing, Daddy."

He nearly chokes on the cloth in his mouth and fights against the overwhelming impulse to throw up as he hears the front door open and close, releasing Trucy to the outdoors and leaving him once again alone with his captor. His instincts tell him to go, to get back up onto his knees and struggle over to the bed to hide. But he's scared, nearly senseless, and he can't get himself to move.

Mr. Wright comes in some few minutes later, snapping the door shut behind him before locking it. He's gripping the handle of a cast-iron frying pan in his right hand, and Apollo feels his stomach tighten. Mr. Wright sighs.

"I wonder, did Kristoph have the same problem with you?" He says it and then follows it up with a long pause, like he's entirely expecting a response from his gagged captive. Apollo manages a noise that's like a whimper, or perhaps a growl, but doesn't dare move.

Then Mr. Wright steps forward, puts his foot on his head to force his chin into the carpet. "Were you disobedient towards Gavin, too? Or did you obey him perfectly like a little slut?"

The pressure on his head increases, and he grunts in discomfort.

"Well, that doesn't matter now." Mr. Wright moves around him and kicks his right leg away from his left, stomping on his ankle with his sneakers. "I'm going to make it so that you don't disobey me again."

He raises the frying pan into the air, and Apollo only sees it for a fraction of a second before it cracks against bone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rated T** for violence and nonexplicit sexual themes.

**Spoilers for:** Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

* * *

His ankle is pinkish red, like diluted blood, and so swollen that it feels heavy, cumbersome, like another shackle. He can't move it well, so the bone must have shattered at least once, maybe twice. There are a couple of wet marks, too, like pomegranate seeds against the pallor of his skin. The pain is enough that it keeps him moaning softly even through his new fear of being overheard.

He's stretched out on the bed now, and the chain of his shackle has been shortened to keep him there, his toes brushing against the cheap wood of the footboard. It's warmer up here on the duvet, its softness a relief from the abrasive carpet, but he can't curl up like he wants to; his abused ankle won't allow for so much movement. So he rests his head between his arms and presses his face against the fabric, taking both comfort and terror from the familiar scent there.

Mr. Wright brought the frying pan down six – or was it seven? – separate times onto his ankle, until Apollo was blinded by his own tears and nearly suffocated by his snot. His throat is dry from screaming and dehydration; he keeps swallowing, hoping it will help, but there's no longer anything but air to swallow. He's tired, his eyes sore and bloodshot from so much crying, and he wants to sleep, but the sharp, incessant throb of his ankle is a constant blight on his awareness, and he can't ignore it long enough to pass into unconsciousness.

He doesn't know how long it's been since Mr. Wright left him locked back up in here alone. Time passes torturously slowly, and he has nothing to occupy himself with besides his pain and fear. At some point in this new stretch of his confinement, he became aware of his increasingly full bladder. He doesn't remember when he last went, or even when he last drank, but the pressure in his lower stomach is unmistakable. He squeezes his thighs tighter together as that pressure gradually mounts, but a few drops of urine manage to leak out into his boxers anyway after awhile, to his discomfort and mortification.

With the blinds and curtains still shut, there's no way for him to tell the time. The room might have gotten darker, signaling the passage of noon to night, but he can't even be sure that he's not imagining it. Maybe it's been longer than that. Maybe it's been a whole day, or a week. He wonders if he'll die here, alone, forgotten.

Then the door clicks as it's unlocked. He lifts his head and struggles to hold it up as the door swings open and Mr. Wright steps in. He's holding a pair of sewing shears, and Apollo jerks back, rolling his injured ankle. He bites down on the cloth in his mouth to stifle his groan.

"Relax, Apollo," Mr. Wright says with a smile as he approaches the bed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Apollo tries to push further away, but with his shackle and his wound, he can't get far. Mr. Wright grabs his bound hands and effortlessly drags him to the edge of the bed. The shears gleam mere inches from his nose, and he doesn't squirm. Then he feels a light touch on his swollen ankle, and he yelps behind his gag.

"Maybe I hit you too hard," Mr. Wright muses, retracting his hand. Apollo breathes deeply through his nose, trying to chase away the dizziness that's starting to overcome him. "I should probably clean this up..."

He cries out again, this time kicking his chained foot as Mr. Wright runs _another_ finger over the tender flesh of his wound. He doesn't mean to, not with the shears so close to his face, but it's an instinctive response, almost primal. He thinks he's going to be hit for it, and he prepares himself, but Mr. Wright only chuckles.

"I can't understand you with that tape on your mouth, Apollo," he says, sliding his hand under his captive's chin and rubbing his thumb against his covered lips. "Trucy's out sleeping at a friend's tonight, so if you promise to be quiet, I can take this off."

He doesn't wait for a response; he just brings the shears too close to Apollo's right ear and starts cutting. Apollo can feel the tape starting to loosen, but occasionally, there's a crunching sound, and he's sure Mr. Wright is cutting strands of his hair as well. In his current state, he hardly cares. Once the edge of the tape flaps up enough to be pinched between two fingers, Mr. Wright takes hold of it and says, "This'll hurt a bit." Then he yanks his hand back.

_A bit_, Apollo learns, is a gross understatement. If he hadn't already screamed his voice hoarse, he's sure he would have alerted the whole apartment complex to his pain as the tape is whipped off, peeling skin and hair from his face. It takes Mr. Wright four pulls to complete the job, and by the time it's over, Apollo is shaking, the cool, still air of the room stinging his raw lips and chin. He has to steady himself enough to hold still as the cloth, soaked with saliva and blood, is drawn from his mouth. His jaw feels strangely but mercifully light without it there.

"How are you feeling?" Mr. Wright asks, and Apollo wants to say something cool and angry and defiant.

Instead, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he says, "Please... I need to use the restroom."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I made a couple of obnoxious typos when I posted this on the kink meme, which I've corrected here. ORZ I suppose that's what I get for writing this on my phone and at four in the morning, no less. x.x As always, thanks for all the support! :D

**Rated T** for violence and nonexplicit sexual themes.

**Spoilers for:** Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

* * *

Mr. Wright isn't gentle when he unlocks the chain of the shackle and pulls Apollo to his feet. He hooks his arm between his captive's elbows and then drags him up until he's stumbling into him. Apollo's injured ankle won't support him, so he's forced to shift his weight to his good leg and lean into Mr. Wright's chest to keep himself from collapsing. He's also dizzy, from hunger, or exhaustion, or pain, or all three, and so he needs the support even more.

Neither speaks as Mr. Wright half walks, half drags Apollo into the adjoining bathroom. Apollo _wants_ to say something, wants to scream at Mr. Wright, and cry, and ask him how he could do this to him, and hadn't they been friends, mentor and student? But he doesn't have the energy, or the confidence, that he once did to make unnecessary trouble, and so he keeps quiet as Mr. Wright shuffles him up to the toilet and then holds him there in front of it. He blushes, thinking Mr. Wright is going to leave and allow him to figure out on his own how to situate himself on the toilet without triggering the pain in his ankle, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls him against his chest while his hands move down to his waist, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers before he slides them down. Apollo blushes harder as he's left with his private regions completely exposed to his former mentor, but Mr. Wright doesn't seem to care.

"Go on, Apollo," he says, holding his charge out by the shoulders so that his backside must now be clearly visible. "You said you had to go, and I don't know when I'll be around to untie you again, so you'd better not waste this chance."

Apollo doesn't want to give in, doesn't want Mr. Wright to see him doing this embarrassing human act, but his bladder is already painfully full, and he can't hold it in any longer. He squeezes his eyes shut as he does it and tries to imagine that he's at home, alone, in the privacy of his own bathroom. But there are sturdy hands on his shoulders, and his own are still taped up, and there's a shackle on his leg, and nothing feels normal. Mr. Wright is behind him, has been there the whole time and seen the whole thing, and gradually, he's overcome with so much shame and humiliation that he almost starts to cry. He wants to pull his boxers back up to hide himself because he hates being exposed like this, but his bound hands and fingers are so useless, and _he_ feels useless, too. He waits anxiously for Mr. Wright to redress him, but he doesn't and instead guides him to step out of his undergarments.

"How about a bath, Apollo?"

He's not gagged anymore, but still he can't manage to find his voice to reject the offer. Mr. Wright exits the bathroom, leaves him slumping against the tiled wall, naked from the waist down. He doesn't move, though his brain tells him to run for the door, in spite of his crippled ankle, in spite of his nudity, which he thinks is a stupid thing to consider by comparison but which he realizes might have kept him from leaving anyway. He can't do anything but wait for Mr. Wright to come back, and it frustrates him to be so helpless.

There's a mirror above the sink, and he turns his head just slightly to look at it. It's obvious where Mr. Wright missed the tape and cut his hair instead because there are strands that fall short of the others, angled crudely over his ears. His bangs are flattened over his brow line, and he doesn't know if it's their shadows or his own exhaustion that have created the black circles under his eyes. He turns away then because he can't bear to look at himself, not like this.

A moment later, Mr. Wright returns with the sewing shears in one hand and a cut of silken turquoise fabric, which Apollo recognizes as his own tie, in the other. He gets to work cutting and tearing the tape from his captive's hands and wrists, and this time, Apollo's unmuffled screams are so loud that Mr. Wright has to stop intermittently to hold a hand firmly over his mouth. When the last of the tape is finally pulled away, Apollo is shaking, and his skin is red and raw and hairless.

Again, Mr. Wright seems not to care. He busies himself with undoing the buttons on Apollo's shirt and then maneuvering him out of it. Apollo barely resists. Had his shirt been removed before his boxers, he thinks he might have fought back more, but as he is now, what does he have left to hide?

The garment is soon removed and tossed aside, and Apollo is left standing -_leaning_ - entirely nude before his captor. His ankle is killing him, and his hands are burning, and all he wants is to lie down somewhere soft and sleep off the pain, but Mr. Wright goes to start the water in the tub, and when he comes back, he's gripping the tie again.

"Hold your hands behind your back, Apollo," he orders, and Apollo realizes he means to tie him up again, and with his own necktie, no less.

"Mr. Wright," he says at last, because his wrists are so sore, and he doesn't want to be tied up anymore. "Why - why are you doing this to me? Please... I never..."

He trails off because Mr. Wright's eyes have gone cold, and he looks like he's clenching his teeth behind his lips. "I told you to put your hands behind your back, Apollo," he says, and there's a threat in his voice that's close to the surface and dangerous, and so Apollo flinches back.

"You can't do this," he murmurs, softer than he would have liked, but at least he said it. "Mr. Wright, you have to let me go."

"Apollo." It's said severely, a sharp warning against the defiance that's been welling up - and is now dying - inside him.

"You won't get away with this," he whispers, but Mr. Wright's face has become twisted, frightening, and so, hating himself, he puts his hands behind him.


End file.
